If the Tree Leans, then so Will We
by Summer Leigh Wind
Summary: A secretive gleam to his hell-fire eyes, Prussia smirks. "I'm not a perfectionist, I am a soldier of-" "God, I know, you've said it before," Germany sighs. One-Shot. Okay, more like a Drabble.


**_If the Tree Leans, then so Will We_**

* * *

Staring at the warped tree on the edge of their property, Prussia considers it. He likes to think he knows a thing or two about crookedness-good and evil. He's stared both in the face on more than one occasion and sees those that fall somewhere in between every single day; on the streets, while feeding birds in the park, every time he sees another nation.

Fingers caressing the worn handle of the ax he leans on, Prussia is reminded, though, crookedness is more than just a human thing. It manifests itself in the world around them, reminding them that it is always there; reminding them of the constant struggle between the heavens and hell. Prussia frowns, it's a young thing and West does so hate to have to replace trees (flowers, bushes, and so forth), but you have to rid the world of the crooked whenever you can. Picking up his ax with both hands, he steps forward and straining his muscles, swings it into the tree.

He wishes people could be nipped in the bud as well, but it isn't so easy. They all start out so pure, more divine than any saint...But, the moment a newborn releases its caterwauling wail, wickedness is unfurling its heart (what matters, though, is how they repent, how they stunt that evil from spreading out of them and unto others). Prussia has seen those who succeed in suppressing that instinctual evil, turned that universal selfishness into selflessness. He admires them, prays to them, asks for guidance; not all of them are saints, but all are worthy of the title. He wishes he could be as they are and were, turn off his self-centered ego and let compassion and empathy overflow him until he can only _be _selfless...

He can't.

He is a nation, a representative of a people; none are perfect, few wholly good, few wholly evil and he manifests this.

Hacking into the the trunk with a final, satisfied grunt; the tree tips, tumbling to the ground. A grin most pleased cutting across his face, the man drops the ax and reaches for the shovel he brought along. Taking it, he digs around the tree stump; prying it from the ground. Eradicate, he is eradicating wickedness...it's more satisfying than anything he's done in a great while. He remembers when he was young, when crusades hid their evil with the goodness of the Christianity. Fingers going for the metal cross around his neck, he presses the warmed metal to his lips; letting a wordless prayer pass over his lips.

Forgive him for his weakness, forgive him for not questioning when he could...forgive him for not living up to his people's goodness. Most of all, forgive him for the wickedness he inflicted unto others.

Finished with his task, he smears dirt on his sweaty face as he tidies up the remnants of the tree. Gathering it up, he takes it to the compost pile by the shed; dumping it next to the vinyl siding, he allows himself one last grin. He did well; it was a small step, but important. Everything and anything he can do for his people, he will do. Even if it's something as small as taking down a crooked tree.

Sanguine eyes turning skyward, he hopes god can see his goodness as that of his people's. He's them. And he's trying so hard to win them the salvation he's not sure he'll ever be granted.

* * *

"Did you cut down that tree _bruder_? I don't know vhy you had to do that, I have to buy a new one now..." Germany remarks watching with eyes of heaven-blue as Prussia walks in the back door.

Prussia smiles at his brother, "Of course I had to!" He exclaims, laughter bubbling up from his chest; "It vas crooked."

The blond shakes his head. "Sometimes I feel like you're more of a perfectionist than I am," he mutters.

A secretive gleam to his hell-fire eyes, Prussia smirks. "I'm not a perfectionist, I am a soldier of-"

"God, I know, you've said it before," Germany sighs.

Walking past his brother, Prussia claps his shoulder. "And I mean it every time I say it _bruder_!" The younger snorts, but the proudly erect man does not notice; his thoughts on the salvation of his people.

Leaving the room, he doesn't see the way his brother shakes his head or how he sends a crooked smile towards the kitchen floor...

* * *

**Hm. I don't know what this all means, what do you all get from it? I was just reflecting on a sermon I heard at church (I go on Wednesday nights) and...well, this came out of it. **

**Thanks for reading everybody and please pretty please review!**

_**Words:**_

_**Bruder-Brother**_


End file.
